


A Good Death

by Kittenlzlz



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Canon Typical Violence, Gen, Introspection, My teacher is a fallout fan too, One Shot, Self Sacrifice, Written for a Class, ignoring the dlc, random kid looking in on the lone wanderer, saint of the wastes, so that was nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:56:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9466388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenlzlz/pseuds/Kittenlzlz
Summary: The Lone Wanderer is a radio legend, a hero who never sleeps, never stops, constantly protecting them all. It feels wrong to meet a near-mythical figure and be unable to tear your mind away from how worn-out they look.





	

I didn't recognize the sound at first, couldn't place the soft fleshy noises as those of my fellow travelers being torn apart. The sharp iron scent of blood raised me from my drowsiness, permeating the air with the sickly odor of violence. For all that their harassment had driven me to sleep under the caravan, I would not have condemned them to be Yao Guai food. Three of the monsters - frankenstein's of radiation fueled mutations - prowled around the remains of our fire, growling over bites of the mangled men. There was always a risk to traveling the wastes, but ours was a large group of caravaneers. It seemed numbers didn't bring safety however, just more predators. I was alive perhaps, but had nothing but a pistol. It was unlikely I'd stay untouched for long. I clenched my fingers and willed them to stop shaking, to grip and raise the gun and take down at least one of the bastards. I breathed in, out and aimed at the largest beast’s scarred eye.

A shot rang out, and gore splattered across my vision, but it wasn't my shot. Two more reports broke the night, the rest of the pack falling like their leader. I crouched there, half hidden and blood-smeared, wondering if a fourth one would come, and if I'd even hear it before the bullet burst my skull. Nothing came but the quiet padding of footsteps. A woman, long leather duster over her armor and face hidden from dust and vision alike by goggles and scarves. I recognized her though, and the mutt loyally shadowing her. The man on the radio talked about her enough, called her “The Saint of the Wastes”, the one to bring justice to this irradiated hellhole. The pistol dropped from my nerveless fingers, adrenaline leaving me all at once. The Saint picked it up, curling my hand around it and holding it.

“Your weapon is your life, kid. Don't be so careless with it.” She said, pulling her scarf down to speak. I nodded, staring at the scars crisscrossing the revealed flesh, wondering how many times that lesson had been had been driven home for her.

As the particle clogged sky burned with the first rays of an irradiated dawn, we sat beside the rebuilt fire, watching two iguanas slowly roast. The Saint was constantly scanning the horizon, hand absently stroking her dog’s head.  

“Were they your family?” she asked abruptly, inclining her head towards where we’d dragged the bloody remains.

“What? No. They just needed an extra hand.”

“Ah.” She said. “That's…. Good then. Losing family is hard.” I looked at her curiously and her mouth quirked. “My father. I followed him here, fought through deathclaws and slavers to find him. He died anyway.”

“But he died a hero right? The radio says he saved the brotherhood.” I couldn't even kill a Yao Guai, yet he’d held off an entire army. It would be nice, to be a hero like that.

“Kid,” she murmured, eyes distant. “I’ve been told many times that he died a good death, stopping the enclave. But I still can't bring myself to believe it. It was a necessary death, a hero’s death, but not a good one.” She fixed her eyes on me, dawn and firelight turning brown to blazing coals. “To be a saviour is to give up everything of your own. You will lose everything, and still the world will take, until no one even remembers you as a person. To be a hero is to be doomed.” 

“But… Happy endings can happen right? It's not always bad.” I flinched when she let out a short bark of laughter and shook her head.

“Perhaps. But you’ll never reach one without losing something along the way. Even those that reach the happy ending are broken.” She smiled and patted my head, but there was a jagged edge to the expression, like someone had tried to repair her but couldn't find all the parts. “It's okay though, sacrifices are inevitable if you want to help everyone.”

I wanted to disagree, but I couldn't. Because if it hadn’t been for the Saint getting up and fighting (bleeding, hurting) each day, I’d be dead. As would any others she had helped. I choked on a half-sob, and curled against her, because that just wasn't  _ fair _ . She tensed, then unwound with a predator's grace, an arm around me and her mutt settling at our feet. The wasteland was spread before us; a poisonous land wind-worn and war-torn, and the only thing between me and it, between  _ everyone _ and it, was the life of a doomed Saint.

I am older, now. Many years stretched between that moment and me; there was no burning dawn, just the gritty gray of day. No Saint, just an crooked angel statue someone had tied her gun and leather duster to. There was a spray-paint doodle of a dog by the base. I smiled slightly at it as I laid a box of used sniper rounds at its feet, next to many similar offerings. She’d died to secure pure water for the whole wasteland, and people wouldn't forget the Saint. But they were already forgetting the scarred teenager, and it made something in me wrench painfully. She’d given everything, but no one knew her name. Not even me. She was just our Saint, and she’d pass into legend that way. 

“Thank-you.” I said to her memorial, the twist of my lips bittersweet now. “Thank-you so, so much.” I had children who would grow up without the ache of radiation in their bones thanks to her. I hoped she considered hers a good death, not just a necessary one.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooo, first time posting something in 4 years. This isn't entirely true to canon, but I was focusing more on capturing the feel of the original ending.


End file.
